Case File # 12 chapter1

CHAPTER 1

Stepping on the edge, the sight before me is overwhelming. Looking to the horizon, as far as I can see, I feel a sense of insignificance. I am an ant, trudging on the vast, gray earth. But I am not an ant right now; I am myself, on the edge of a high precipice, atop a very high escarpment.

The wind blows softly on my face, caressing my skin with sensations I never thought I could feel. The noonday sun is on top of my head, yet I couldn’t feel its heat. Only the mild chill from the wind keeps me company. I stare at this sight, spreading my arms, accepting the magnificence lay before me. And I feel free.

I look below me, and I see the finality. At first, I feel fear, snapping at my consciousness. I am on the verge of a high cliff, on the summit of this awesome sight. At the same time, I am on the verge of my finiteness, on the apex of my morality. Yet, strangely the fear vanished, evaporated, replaced by comfort. A few inches, and I will cross over. On the other side, there is deliverance. With that thought, I feel at peace.

I take one step forward. And now, I am falling. The wind now changes from a soft, mellow breath, to a ravaging, horrid, flow. My arms are still stretched to the side, like a bird falling from its nest, catching its lift in order to fly. Except, I don’t have wings; I have arms. The scenery rushes by the corner of my eye. The height from which I fell from is not that high, yet I feel like I am descending slowly. But the surge of wind, the rush of scenery convinced me that my fall is on a constant velocity. The rules of gravity applied.

The ground below is coming near. Then, everything goes blank.

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“Sir, are you there?”

I wake up sitting on my office. The rain is still pouring outside. Outside my window, right behind the chair I am sitting on, the lights of the city glared. The street below is not busy; only a few pedestrians ambled by, either with opened umbrellas, or raincoats, some in thick jackets. A high school student talking on her cell phone is standing under the awning of the coffee shop across the street, shielding herself from the deluge of the night. A few blocks away, a well-dressed lady is holding up her black umbrella, walking towards 35th away from the coffee shop. Nothing strikes me as odd in this scenery. Just another rainy, February night.

I wipe a bit of drool from the corner of my lips, using my sleeves as a handkerchief. I try to stand up and I almost stumbled; I didn’t realize that my legs went numb. Looking at the wall clock, it says 7:43. I don’t remember falling asleep, or if I did, what time I last felt conscious. So, I can’t be sure how many hours was I sitting on my chair. I flexed my legs a bit, restoring some circulation, until I can feel from them again. I stand up and I limp my way towards my office bathroom.

I opened the lights, and yellowish light bathed the ceramic surrounding of the small cubicle. Looking at the small mirror, I recognized myself. Yet, I feel estranged somewhat. Is this really me? Am I the one looking at this mirror? If only this image winked, or maybe grinned, then a lot of questions would be settled. I let this thought slip pass, as I turned the faucet on. Water spilled, and I cup my hands, splashing my face, partly to wake myself up, and maybe to wash away some of the grime on my lips. Drying myself with a towel, I shut the lights of the bathroom off.

I look around my small office. It’s non-descript; wooden floors, high ceiling, a small deskfan beside my messy table, case files scattered all over. A corner lamp on the right is the only source of illumination for my office; I have my desk lamp too, but its off. The only decoration I can say of, is the pink blinds adorning the only window, although I don’t want to touch it, on account of the accumulated dust. I have Jennifer coming in early each day and although she insisted on straightening my place, I never pressed her to clean my office. Still, whenever I come in, the trash bins are always empty, ash trays are clean, and my coffee maker already brewing.

“Sir, are you there?”

I briskly walk towards my table, punching the intercom button answering to the other unit by the secretary’s desk outside.

“I’m here Jen. Is there something up?”

“Sir, a lady wishes to see you right now.”

“Does she have an appointment?” A stupid question actually. Whenever a potential client comes and sets a meeting with me, Jen always briefs me about it, or in case I am not in, leaves a small note on my desk. I don’t see any notes around here, and my calendar for today has nothing on it.

“No, sir. Shall I ask her to come back tomorrow?” In her voice, there’s a slight tremble on it, so it means, the client insisted on seeing me now. Glancing at the wall clock, it is still too early for me to leave anyways. 7:56.

“Its okay, she can come in. Give me five minutes. Oh, you can go home later, I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks for the help today Jen.”

“Anytime, sir.”

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I sit down on my chair, and I light up my Marlboro reds. I am about to open my desk lamp, when my door opened slowly, and a beautiful lady floats in. I use the term “float”, because of the way she walks. Languid, yet alive. Just like a stream or a brook on a secluded mountain trail; a traveler would notice this small body of water, especially after walking for hours, but a local would pay no mind about it. Keeping her posture and poise, I see no sign of exertion from her. Very natural, yet only a few can recognize its distinction. Behind her, I see Jennifer slinging her bag on her shoulders and grabbing her leather overcoat from her chair. She smiles at me, and I acknowledge it with a nod, then she closes my office door.

“Are you Detective Murakami?” Just like her walk, her voice and her diction is alive and impassive at the same time. People have their way of talking. Accents, nuances, a particular stress on some vowels perhaps, a person’s voice can reveal a number of things about the one who speaks, from their upbringing, to their educational attainment. Yet, hers is devoid of any of these. Who is she?

“Yes. And you are…” I put my cigarette on the half-filled ashtray as I stand up.

“Do you accept clients at this late of an hour?”

“I told my secretary to let you in.”

“And now I am here. My name is Naoko O’Hara.” She extends her hand, and I accept it.

“Please sit down.” She nodded, and we both take our seats, I on my chair, she on the client’s. A silence ensues; the falling rain pat-pat on my window, my desk fan whirring valiantly to keep me cool.

“I apologize for the unearthly warmth here in my office. And for not seeing you immediately. Were you waiting long outside?”

“No, its ok. The temperature is fine, and I was not waiting that long.” I turn my desk lamp on so that I can see her much better. She is wearing a blood-red evening dress with the small spaghetti straps on her shoulders. On her neck, a simple gold necklace with a diamond stud. A Cartier watch on her arm, Gucci purse on her lap. Her hair is straight and long, flowing all the way beyond her shoulders, but from this angle, I cannot tell how long it really is. No makeup, only a lip balm enhancing her lips. She is a bit broad-shouldered, yet her arms are proportioned to it. My guess is she’s 5’7” or so. She smiles, or is it a smirk? Then she crosses her legs, revealing their fine shape through the slit of her dress. On her feet are black evening shoes with heels. Unpainted nails. A rich client for today huh? Then again, I don’t do this for the money.

What is this beautiful woman doing in my office at this hour? My mind wondered.

I stand up, and take a look at the scenery on the streets below. As expected, there is a car outside. Judging by its lights and its logo, it’s probably an E-class Mercedes Benz. Figures. No woman, no matter how refined she is, would dare venture out on a February rain, wearing a night dress and open-toe evening shoes, without a car. Probably a chauffer waiting inside.

“So, what can I do for you, Miss O’Hara?” I turned at her. The smile/smirk is not there anymore.

“It’s actually Mrs. O’Hara. And I need your help.” Married. She opens her purse, a gold-platted cigarette lighter and a pocket of cigarettes in hand “Do you mind?”

I shake my head, and I point on the my cigarette ashtray, my Marlboro’s almost to its end. She lights her cigarette, and as she inhales, I pushed my ashtray nearer to her.

“I heard you are a very capable investigator, Mr. Murakami. You were highly recommended my by friends.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you.” I wonder who her ‘friends’ are. I’ll find that out soon.

“And I heard that you are particularly good in finding.. missing people.”

“Most of my successful cases were of that nature.”

“Uh-huh. And its actually that that I need your help. I want you to find someone for me.” She crossed her legs again, this time the other leg on top. I can see in her eyes that she is testing me, measuring my worth. This used to bother me back then. Now, I just use this to motivate myself, to fan the embers of interest for the case.

“And who do you want me to find for you?” I reached for my pen, and I open my notes, scribbling “Case# 12, O’Hara, missing person = “

“I want you to find my husband for me.” She takes another puff of her cigarette. The rain outside never ceasing, the dark skies threatening civilization with a low thunder.

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n.b. stay tuned for chapter 2!!

Nowhere Girl

It was a rainy, February night when I got a call from Alicia. Just like any phone calls, I was reluctant to answer it at first. I'm not really big in people looking for me, and besides, I was not expecting any calls that night. It was a Saturday, and I believe that Saturday nights are meant to be spent in any way the person deems appropriate. If he or she wants to go out, dance in a disco, get drunk with whiskey, and maybe, just maybe, sleep with the most beautiful girl or guy on the dance floor, then he or she may do so. If Sunday is the Lord's day, then Saturday is the Individual's day.

In one strange stroke, though, I've decided not to go out that night, on account of the drizzle constantly dropping outside. Instead, on that particualr night, I was relaxing on my couch, sipping some Spanish brandy, no ice, watching basketball in the TV. It was the final 5 minutes of the last quarter, when the phone rang.

As I said before, I'm not really keen in answering phone calls, at least not on that rainy, February night. At the fifth ring, though, I decided to get up, and pick up the phone. When I placed the receiver on my right ear, my heart skipped a beat. For what reason, I have no clue. I was not expecting any calls that night, so I can't say that I was excited. Then again, I was positive, my heart skipped a beat. Only after swallowing a wad of spit was I able to say..

"Hello?"

"Hi." It was a woman; I can't tell who it was.

"Who is this?"

"Its me Alicia. Remember me?" At that precise moment, my mind strove to place the voice and the name to a person I may or may not know. Like a librarian sorting books based on the library catalog, my consciousness flew from one event to another, peeking in one event in my life, then deciding that the name "Alicia" does not belong there. The fishing trip me and my dad took when I was 6, my first fist fight at Grade 1, our class picture at grade 4, then..

"Yeah I remember you. You were in my Grade 4 class, right?"

"I knew you'd recognize me, Noboteru." From across the line, I can hear her smile.

"So what's up? Last time we talked, it was, like after high-school graduation, right? How have you been?" In the back of my mind, somehow, the last sentence has something wrong with the grammar, but I let it slip..

"You tell me. You're the reporter, right?"

I chuckled, while saying, "Yes, I am, but that doesn't give me the right to snoop in other people's lives now, does it?" Actually, I know what she's been up to then, but I was not about to reveal her that.

"Hmm.. nothing big really. I was following my dreams, somehow landed with my two feet on the ground, and right now, I'm just checking with my former classmates."

"Now I am SURE that it's you."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"The Alicia I know talks just like that; with vague sentences, like riddles." That's true, she does talk like that, especially back in High School.

"Oh, shut up, Nero." I can still hear her smile from the other line.

"Say, let's go out for some coffee. Next saturday, maybe?"

"... I don't know, I think I have to go to work on that day.."

"No you're not. I know that you don't work on Saturdays"

"And how can you be sure of that?" I was really curious now.

"I just know. You're probably scratching your ear now, because you just want to skip out on me.."

"You know me too well, and you got me cornered there." By then, I stopped scratching my left ear.

"Ok, so we're meeting next saturday then?"

"Tell you what.. why not do it tomorrow? I mean, if it's ok with you.."

From the silence that followed, I can imagine seeing here getting uncomfortable. She probably has some plans for tomorrow. I can somehow sense that she'll junk my suggestion, and I was about to accept that, when she said..

".. OK. Tomorrow then. At the Village Perk, you know where that is, right?"

"Yeah, I do. So, tomorrow then?" At that point, I was making a note on the calendar that I will meet an old friend at the Perk.

"Say, Nero? Mind if I ask you something?"

"You already asked a question, so how would another one matter?"

"Hehe, smartass." The smile again.

"So what's the question?"

"Did you change that much? I mean, from High School, till now, how much did you change?"

I thought she was refering to the way I look, so I said..

"Not really. I'm still wearing the glasses, and my taste in clothes are still blant. I'm sure you'll recognize me tomorrow."

I can hear her sigh from the other line. I was about to ask her what does she mean, when she just said..

"Ok, see you tomorrow then."

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That phone call kept me awake the whole night. The cold weather, the slight drip-drip of the water hitting my bedroom window, the cool sheets, they are all very inviting for sleep. Yet, my mind refused to shut off; instead it wanted to keep on going, like a train charging onward the tracks, even after the brakes are applied. Tonight, my mind was on reminiscing mode.

She was the most beautiful girl in our class. Even when I first met her at fourth grade, all the way to high school, she had the title "Class Muse" down pat. It might reflect the incapability of our class' version of democracy, but it can't be helped; the competition is almost none-existent. Like most students, we (the ordinary guys) would rather stay on the sidelines, absorbed in homework and exams; we don't want our lives to be complicated unecessarily.

Alicia, however, is different. She was one of the "elite crew"; they were the ones whom the teachers rely on (although that doesn't mean the teachers are unreliable, but..), the ones whom the "ordinary" guys and girls cheer from the sidelines. The creme-de-la-creme. Alicia was very pretty, with good grades, and her smile is as radiant as the 12'o clock sun. So it was no contest for "Class Muse". Actually, Jerick, the "Class Escort" was her partner for the same number of years. He was handsome and charming, as most of the girls in our class would describe him. His looks and charms, though won't cover his bad side. Jerick has this attitude, this aloftness; he sees us, not as fellow schoolmates, but slaves. As if he was God's greates gift to our class. So everytime he fails one of our exams, me and my friends laughed so hard, that, once, we almost passed gas in History class.

Some of them (the elite crew) would say that I belong with them, but I never did saw it that way. I get good grades, and awards because of it. Thats what they only see. But nobody knew that I was not a good student. I never stayed up more than beyond 10 pm to study for exams. I do my homework the next day at class. At class discussions, I prefer to doodle at the back pages of my notebooks. I hated doing chores for the class. I especially loathed cleaning the classroom before going home. I frequently cut class to play videogames. That's why I refused to hang out with the "elite". Alicia is the lone exemption; I talk with her the most.

Actually, with the glaring exception of Jerick the Dick, everyone from the "elite" crew are nice, decent people. The girls were kind and sweet, the guys were cool. What I hated, though, was how the teachers strove to keep their image intact. They would always say, "The rest of the class should be like (insert name of one of the elite).." To me, the whole thing was absolutely ridiculous. It was unfair to expect so much from students, just as how it was unfair to create a division in the class, all because a few seem to be so much better than the rest. They were teachers, yet at the same time, they act like sheperds, separating the sheeps from the goats. I realized this one time, when I saw one of the teachers treating them to ice cream (unfortunately, the Dick was with them), while the rest of us are busily arranging chairs and tables, cleaning the chalk boards, and emptying the waste cans.

They only see what they want to look at. As for me, I couldn't care less about accolades and teachers relying on me. I'd rather be left alone. This was my mantra, and I stuck with it till High School graduation.

I may appear to be stuck-up back then, but deep inside, I had a mission. I kept an eye out for Alicia. I had no clue what came to me when I realized that I wanted to protect her. Nobody knew about this, not even my closest buddies.

Maybe it was back in fifth grade, when we were seatmates. She fell asleep the night before, and it was examination day. She was looking at her test papers, and there she was, on the verge of tears. "Mental block" I guessed. But inside me, my chest felt crushed. Looking at her eyes, almost red from staying up too late, then realizing that her hard work is going to fail. I couldn't bare to see such a sight. When the teacher was not looking, I passed her a note, saying: "are you alright?". And there she was, looking at me, her face red, a small tear creaping on her left cheek. I quickly finished my test paper, and I looked at the direction of our teacher. Beside me, I layed my test paper, for her to see the answers. She was shocked, and she shook her head, but I gave her the "just do it" look.

A few days later, the test results were in. I got a good grade, she barely passed. It was a good thing that she didn't copy my answers to the letter, otherwise we would have been screwed.

"Thanks a lot, Nero" She was blushing when she said it.

"Well we were lucky. Next time, don't force your brain into studying. Otherwise, you'll get a mental block. And always make notes in class; I wouldn't recommend borrowing someone else's notes to review. You didn't write it, so chances are, you won't understand it, ok?"

That's when our frienship started. Whenever we passed each other, or when our eyes meet somewhere, she always smiled at me, that 12'o clock smile. We started talking, though not in front of everybody else. It was some kind of unspoke agreement between us; we don't show anybody else just smiles and nods. We do all of our talking on the shool rooftop, before going home. Nobody else saw us there. We were like kings and queens, standing on the balcony of their castle, overlooking the wide expanse of their kingdom laid before their eyes. She was quite a chatterbox. Strange, she acts differently in class, or in front of other people for that matter. She smiles a lot, but she rarely speaks out, unless necessary. On the rooftop, though, it was her who usually talks. That didn't bother me at all; I enjoyed listening to her ideas. When she talks, I was transported to another world. A world of better things. I talk as well, but only as answers to her questions.

It was on that point when I made it clear, that I would do whatever it takes not to see her cry again. I wanted to preserve that smiling face. And I did that for six years.

Sometimes, during classes, I found myself looking at her. Why, I didn't know. It's like trying to be sure that your wallet is still there where you left it. Or like a freshly planted flower. Everyday, you water it, then you bring it out for some sunlight. Once the bud appears, before you do anything else, you inspect the whole plant, trying to make sure that it's growing well. Although, no matter how many times you look, the flower won't come out. In its own time, it will bloom.

As I lie on my bed, looking at the bare ceiling, I remembered my last conversation with Alicia.

"Nero, I'm telling you a secret. Please don't tell anybody ok?"

"OK. Let's hear it." We were on the rooftop of our building as usual, overlooking a March sunset. The skies were a multi-colored layer, like a home-made blanket enveloping the firmaments. On the horizon, the fiery-red glow of the semi-circle star slowly sink, overlaped by an orange sky with its varying hues, until there's nothing but the darkness which precludes an evening. Our clothes have taken a different color because of the sunset. Even with this scene, her smile is still as radiant as the 12'o clock sun.

"Me and Jerick, were going steady now."

This was a shocker, indeed worthy of the status of 'secret'. I mean, she deserves someone better. A lot of guys that I know of would gladly give up their right arm just to have a date with her. Why did she have to settle with The Dick? When I looked at her, I know she was waiting how I would react. I tried my best not to betray my thoughts to her, although I must have looked like an idiot who just ate an unripe mango straight from the tree.

"Uhuh, that's.. er, nice. Mind if I ask you some questions about it?" Now this was a throw of the dice, a gamble. I wanted to know why, and I'm not going to get the answer in some roundabout manner.

"I was afraid you'd say that, but go ahead"

"Why him?"

"I don't know. Is it that surprising? I mean, since fourth grade he was my escort, right?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean anything. It's just a title of office, a representation. It's not who you really are."

"Yeah, you're right." She turned around, and leaned on the railings on the rooftop. It was put there to prevent students from falling, yet which student, in their right mind, would try jumping in the first place? She turned her eyes downward, at the students milling around the quadrangle, some of them walking towards the auditorium. Our building is only four-stories tall, so people still look like people from this height.

"I don't really know. Somehow, somewhere, I was drawn to him. Maybe it's because of his spirit, his willingness to go on, his courage to stand out. In some ways, he is so.. beyond us. He actually enjoyed being the Class Escort for eight years. Did you know that?"

"No." At this point, I wasn't sure how to make ends or tails of what she just said. So The Dick likes to be placed on the pedestal. We call it arrogance. What is wrong with her? Can't she see that? Is it her naivety? Or maybe she does love him. 'Love is blind, and lovers can't see', as the saying goes. Or "The Heart has its Reasons..", I forgot how that saying went.

"You know what?" Her voice brought me back to reality. She turned her eyes, and she looked at me straight. By now, the darkness slowly embraced the whole sky. The sun is fully set. The small outlines of red and orange at the farthest horizons are the only proofs that the sun was there a few minutes ago.

"You and him.. you are very much alike"

I didn't really understood what she meant with that. From the way she looked at me, it was meant to be a compliment, yet I felt I was insulted. To be actually compared to Jerick. I took a step back, leaned on the railings, fished out a pack of Marlboros, and looked at the rising moon on the other side of the sky. I lighted it, and took a long drag. I started smoking a few weeks ago, so my lungs are still not used to the nicotine; I coughed a little. I looked at her, and I saw that she moved back a bit as well, putting some distance between us. Her eyes have this faraway look. I can't imagine what she was thinking at that point. What I was sure of, her face lost a little of it's glow.

"So.. why are you telling me all this?" I wanted to get this over with now.

"Because.. you are special to me. You are my best friend. I never would have gotten this far without you."

"If you're refering to that time back in fifth grade, you already thanked me for that." I didn't want to fight her, but inside of me, there's a whirlpool of emotions. My tenure as her protector, part of my identity, is about to end. Yet, she looks so happy. What is more important? The self, dedicated for the well-being of the other? Or the other, for whom the self gets its sense of being?

She is looking at the rising moon as well when she said that. Looking at her features, I silently detested myself. 'What a stupid question. Of course, its so simple.'

After a few minutes, she made her way towards the stairwell that leads to the floors below.

"Do you want to hear some advice?"

She turned around, and gave me a slight nod. I puffed in my Marlboros, then I said..

"You deserve someone better. Don't let yourself be blinded by some moron who knows how to deliver lines with a winning smile. You are smart, and very pretty. I'm sure someone is out there for you. Just open your eyes."

"Thanks Nero. I'll do my best. If this doesn't work out, then I'll go out to the world, ready and willing." She smiled at me, and she turned around. Even after she closed the door to the stairwell, I can hear her footsteps. I looked at the setting sun, almost down to its final colors. I breathed a deep sigh. I can feel her presence slowly vanishing. My mind can't stop wondering about her words. Even her mere presence brought some confusion. A few minutes ago, she was here. Now, she is gone. The slight scent left by her perfume is the only proof that she was here.

With that, I finally closed my eyes, basking in the memory of that night, my mind decided to relax, until I fell asleep. The sky is still dark, the rain never stoped pouring.

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The next day, I got up and did some stretching. After that, I lighted my first Marlboro for the day, while I poured myself some orange juice. I lifted the glass, about to take a sip, when I realized that, back then, I was in love with her. And that I was confused and angry, because she chose someone else besides me. But I know, that just like any morning that came for the past years, I always thought of her, of that particular realization, and that this is nothing new. It's just that, no matter how many years have passed, this realization has never lost its flavor; its still very much a revelation to me every day. Just as how the rising of the sun, at the break of dawn signals the coming of a fresh, new day. And I was scared of it.

After graduation, I neither called her, nor wrote her a single letter. But that doesn't mean I forgot her. I work as a reporter for the local newspaper, and I made good use of my methods to gather what information I can about her, what she wass doing. Her mother died three years after our high-school graduation, then her father followed six months later. She was an only child, so she got most of the insurance. She made good use of it, because five years later, she owns and manages one of the most well-known modeling agencies in the whole nation. My latest information has it that a few of her models are about to break through the international circle, especially Paris and New York.

She and Jerick got married last year, but they divorced after a few months. For what reason, I didn't care to know. No children. She lives in a condo not far from the Village Perk, on one of the more upscale part of town.

I guess I am still keeping an eye on her. Although, when her parents died, I didn't go to their wake. I was scared to see her cry. I was afraid to admit to her that I loved her, and that I am too weak to protect her. My mind keeps telling me to just move ahead, that I don't even know her that well. My heart insisted on staying and waiting, that my chance would come.

Everytime I play this tug-of-war by myself, my throat suddenly becomes parched and dry. I set my glass down by the sink, opened the cupboard, took a bootle of last night's brandy, and poured it on my juice. I took a long swallow, and I can feel my body calming down a bit. "At this rate, I'm going to be an alcoholic.. but I don't mind."

*********************************************************************

The rain from last night is now a drizzle. The dark skies are still there, the wind is a bit mild. I can feel a slight chill in me, as I walked towards the coffee shop, Village Perk. This is my second time in this place. The first, a few months ago, was for an interview with some obscure writer, who started his career writing short stories and publishing them on the internet. He's probably hiding out in a hunting cabin in Montana, or a summer house in the Philippines, racking his brains for a story. It's so different when you're freelance; you have no preassure, your time is all yours. The story comes out at its own pace, like a blooming flower. But when you now answer to a publishing house, the hobby becomes a task. "That's why I admire all these writers now. With a snap of their finger," he snaps his finger, "there! A best seller!".

As I take my seat, I scanned the place. Nothing much has changed here; same bar, tended by the same guy, maybe the owner himself, same layout of the tables and chairs, same atmosphere, same wall grafitti. Time has stopped in this place, I guess. From this whole scheme, I quickly realized, whoever thought up of this place has one thing in his, or her, mind; intimacy. Back to the things that you cherished. Even if they are not here anymore, somehow, you force life into them. Acting like gods, injecting vitality into something that has already passed it's aging. Well, whatever, I don't mind the place.

I was setting my pack of Marlboro's on the table, when the proprietor (or perhaps the bar help, I have no clue) came to me, and asked what I would be drinking. "Orange juice would be fine, thank you.", then he left. When he promptly came back with my juice, I thanked him. As he turned his back, I reached for my flask of brandy in my left inner jacket pocket, and I poured it on the juice he just served. I am not a coffee drinker; I'd rather have my juice's spiked. Now, I wondered, why did I agree to meet up with Alicia in a coffee place? Good thing they serve something else other than coffee here. I lighted my Marlboro, took in a long drag, swallowed a swig of my "spiked" juice, and adjusted my mind to the possible conversation that my happen.

"She might be interested in what our classmates are doing now. Maybe she'll ask about our teachers, how are they doing? Some small talk about our present occupation? We'll whatever, I'd let her do all the talking. I don't have anything to say to her after all."

I was on this line of thought when I felt a light tapping on my right shoulder. When I turned around, it was her. Like a child first learning to appreciate art, I was awestruck. She was a sight I can't describe; I can try to, but words would only delimit this vision.

She was wearing a dark-blue blazer and slacks, and white shirt. Black high-heeled boots. Her only jewelry, a gold Cartier watch. No makeup, her lips are a light red, probably lip balm; I can smell her prefume. The very same one she wore in our graduation. Her shiny, black hair is shoulder-length, a black hairpin holding her hair on the left side. A small, black Gucci bag is on her right shoulder. But her smile is still her best asset. It was still like a 12'o clock sun.

I tried to standup, but she held my shoulder. Instead, she slid on the chair opposite me. She put her bag down, leaned on the table, and stared straight at me. It was like was peering in my eyes, she was looking at the color of my soul. I adjusted my glasses, and I returned her gaze. I can't tell whats in her eyes, but I am sure I can see no malice. I wonder what she saw in mine? After a few minutes, I looked away and reached for another cigarette.

She was the first one who spoke.

"How's it going, Nero?"

"It's still going, I guess."

"I have a question. Why are you drinking so early in the day?"

I smiled at her. "I don't drink coffee. I'd rather have my punch," I raised my glass at her, "right here."

"That's not good for you, you know? Are you an alcoholic?" I saw her worried look.

"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. This is just me, I guess. My way of living. Other people can't start the day without going to the bathroom, or eating a full breakfast."

"You lied to me. You changed a lot."

"And so did you. Time never stopped for any of us."

"But you wanted it to stop, didn't you?"

It was a question so direct, I couldn't answer immediately. Instead, I took a drink from my glass.

"How are you doing?"

She shifted a bit on her chair. "I'm alright. Been to worse places, but I guess this is better than before." Again, her riddles.

"Your company is still good?"

"Yeah. There will be a fashion show, hmm, next week. In New York. Some of my models will be in there."

"There's an excuse for you to go somewhere."

She smiled, but there's something wrong with it. Its not the 12'o clock smile. The sun was hidden behind a mass of gray clouds.

"Something wrong?"

"No, its nothing."

"Hmm... so..."

"I guess you're wondering why I called you, right?"

"The thought did cross my mind."

"Well, its nothing special, really. No, scratch that. It IS something special."

She took a very serious tone, her face now a canvas of sadness. "I have to give you something.. but let's do that later, ok? Don't ask me what it is. I'll just give it to you."

"OK. Is it something you can eat?"

"I just said don't ask." Her eyes became glossy, her lips pouting a bit. Then, she laughed softly.

With a grin, I said, "I'm sorry, I'm just kidding. OK, I won't ask."

After that, she regained her composure. "So.. what have you been doing for the past few years?"

I told her everything. After graduation, I applied for a course in college, ended it with a degree in journalism. With some connections, I managed to get some work in the local newspaper. No, I am not married, no kids. I live in a small apartment near here. I walk everyday to work. I never learned how to swim.

"How come you don't have a wife? How about a girlfriend?"

"I didn't have the time, I guess. Plus, with what I'm making, I can't afford to have one."

"But, you have been in love before, right?"

I looked at her, and said, "Yes, I was. Maybe I still am."

She answered by focusing on me, as if she's trying to discern who am I refering to, by looking at my face. After a few tense minutes, she turned her attention to the bar help, and waved at him. He came promptly. "Can I have some cappucino please? With some hazelnut. Thank you" Like a robot, he nodded, turned around, and made his way to the bar.

I was looking at the couple sitting on the other side of the room, when she suddenly asked me..

"Why didn't you come to my parent's wake?"

Taken aback, I looked at her, and there she was. Her features have lost their bloom. It was like a mask that she nonchalantly took off and set aside, revealing the real expressions lying beneath. I knew then, that there is no point in making up anything, so I told her the truth.

"I was scared. I couldn't bear to face you."

"I was wating for you back then, you know? Everybody from our class came. I was sad, lost and afraid, all at the same time. I wanted someone to just hold me, and tell me that, 'It's going to be ok.' I was waiting for you.." she looked down, what it is she is looking I don't know. "to take me away somewhere. Anywhere, except in that room, with all those people, and that coffin.."

"I'm sorry. But, Jerick was there, right?"

"He was. But it wasn't him I was waiting for. At first I thought that it was him. But, when I saw him, I realized that, No, I was waiting for you." Her cappucino is laid on the table, and the waiter/barhelp/owner walked away. She is staring at the foam of her drink, as if she is trying to read the future based on the patterns of the cinnamon sprinkles. I took a drink form my juice; again, I feel so thirsty.

"Why me?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's because.. you were always there for me, especially back when we were still in school. I was so scared to go out everyday. My parents couldn't understand why. I have no real friends before I met you. But, after the exams during our fifth grade, I felt so secure. Thats when I started to really connect with our other classmates, with you. I wasn't afraid anymore. But, maybe that's where I made my mistake. I got so used to you watching over me, that when I really needed help, I was looking for you. Im sorry"

I looked away. Somehow, I just wanted to go somewhere else. I couldn't stand this place. I am a pebble, grinded to fine sand through the rolling waves of the Pacific Ocean. But, I opted to stay and face her. This is the very moment that I have been waiting for all these years. This is the apex; the very defining time. Everything will go away after this. So, I smoked my cigarette, then dashed it in the ashtray.

"Listen to me, Alicia. Back then, you already have someone. Before graduation, you said that you and Jerick are going steady. I don't have any business intruding in your life anymore. I wanted to hold on to you, but I know that I can't."

By now, I have her full attention. Perhaps this, too, is her defining time, her very own apex.

"I didn't really understand a lot of things back then. And I'm not claiming to know everything even now. But, I was sure of one thing. I loved you. And I was willing to do whatever it takes to make you happy. But, when you told me about Jerick, I knew, I had to let go, I have no space anywhere in you. Its time for someone else to take care of you."

In that span of time, everything else that surrounds me and Alicia, became formless substances. The other patrons, the music, the bar keep, the coffee shop, the smell- they all lost their radiance. It was like the whole world became a black-and-white TV screen. All except me and Alicia. There was nothing but silence.

For a brief moment it stayed like this, and as if on cue, everything returned to normal. Its the music that came in first; "Nowhere man" was playing on the speakers that surrounded the whole coffee shop. The couple from the next table began talking again. The crisp smell of grinded coffee again permeated the entire place. Outside, the soft pit-pat-pit of the rain can be heard against the large window by the front entrance.

I stood up, my legs becoming numb from the sitting. I made a gesture of going to the bathroom, and she nodded. I walked briskly towards the side door on the small hallway besides the bar. I was in no hurry; I didn't have that pressing urge to pee anyways. But my legs just wanted to flex itself, to return the lost circulation back to the toes. My mind wanted to retreat, away from her.

After washing my face and wipping it with my handkerchief, I walked back to our table, fully expecting our table empty. Instead, I saw her, still sitting on her chair, writting something on a small stationary with the logo of "Village Perk" on it. I sat down on my chair, noticing her cappucino now half-empty. Her Parker ballpen on her right-hand busily forming the lines and curves that would become letters, then words, sentences. A lighted Marlboro is on the ashtray, angled on her side of the table.

After filling one page of the stationary, she stopped writing, looked up at me and smiled.

"I can't remember the last time I wrote a letter."

I smiled at her. "Who are you writing to?"

She answered casually: "Its for you, of course. But lets talk about that latter, ok?"

I nodded my OK to her. She smiled.

*************************************************************************

Afterwards, she announced that she need to go. "I have to meet up with some clients."

"OK. Do you want me to walk you to your office?" She entertains clients even on a Sunday?

"No, I'll be fine. Here." She gave me a small piece of paper, folded into four. The letter?

"Open it after three days, ok? Not sooner."

"I will." Inside, I wanted to look at it later, but my resolve became firm, when I saw that crucial look of hers. I put the letter in my pocket. "I'll call you, ok?"

"Nero, when people die, do you think they see their whole lives? Just like what they show in the movies?" Her clouded eyes are there.

"I'm not really sure. But, even when a person is not on the edge of death, they always look back at the things they had done in their lives, right?"

".. you're right. Thanks Nero." The clouds were parted, the 12'o clock sun returns.

"Well, then. Thanks for the coffe."

"Thanks for everything, Nero. Goodbye." She turned around, and the dark rain swallowed her.

*******************************************************************************

After three days, I finally opened her letter to me.

I'm really sorry for this letter. I decided to write it all down when you went to the bathroom. I wanted to tell you so many things, but my courage left me. This is the only way for me now. So please bear with it ok?

A lot of things happened in the past, I'm not sure where to start. Most of them are painful memories for me. I guess the only time I was really happy was back when we were still in school.

After mom died, I was.. crushed. And when dad followed her, everything fell down. I was almost on the brink, you know? I couldn't sleep, my appetite is gone. One day after the next, nothing made sense to me. It was during those days when I thought about you. What I said at the coffee shop three days ago, I meant them all- I really was waiting for you. You didn't came.

Everything in my life became.. I don't know, I can't think of a word to describe it. I tried to get back up to the world, to move on. I even married my first boyfriend. But, that decision was so unfair to him. I thought I loved him, but I didn't. Everytime I looked at him, I see somebody else. In my heart, he was fighting a shadow, someone else's shadow. I compared him to a distant memory. That was wrong. Because of that, I hated myself. Jerick is a good man, and he loved me. But I was not fair to him. By the time I realized it, everything was too late.

Everyday, I felt like my shoulders are so heavy. I was carrying an invincible weight. I read in a book before, the gods once cursed a man, by pushing a large rock on the hill, and no matter how hard he tried, when he is almost at the top, the rock would roll all the way down. And he has to start all over again. I feel like that all the time. This is my nowhere land; my place. I only had a brief time off from there. That was last Sunday.

I loved you too, Nero.

After I finished reading her letter, I immediately called her. I sat down by the small table where my telephone is. My shoulders are starting to get heavy, my breathing becoming more labored. My whole apartment is starting to loose their meaning. The sunny Wednesday morning becomes a black-and-white panorama.

On the other line, nobody answered. I redialed her number, but only the ring-ring sound greeted me.